Snake Tears
by Kale's Kid
Summary: Pre-series. Sekhmet reflects on himself, remembering a past he terribly shuns.


Yoroiden Samurai Troopers:  
  
1 Snake Tears  
  
  
  
…Raku tan suru… yuki wo dasu…kokoro…  
  
"Dais!" the deep toned voice of the great Doku Masho, Sekhmet, snapped through the Gen Masho's mind as a whip cracking against his bare skin.  
  
Jarred from his whispering thoughts, he turned his only eye towards his friend. "Nani?" lip curling as the irritated words jumped from his mouth. Sometimes he wanted to strangle Sekhmet, just to dig his fingers into that yellow-tinted scaled throat until the half-breed had no more snide comments. Just to let his now iced anger flow, like blood on the battlefield, no more reserves, no more masked emotions, just scream… hate. He nearly let himself sneer at the half-naga, watching him as he brushed his soft-green hair out of his face revealing the ruby colored jewel embedded in his forehead. The mark of a snake demon… Dais had known from the moment he saw Sekhmet that he was no human, the strange appearance and behavior of his friend was nothing new after so many centuries.  
  
Sekhmet stiffened, crossing his toned arms tightly against his chest. Body so close to physical perfection, yet his heart and mind were so far. "Such unfriendly looks," he gently mocked but mocked none-the-less. "Putting your words on the rocks again?" his wild-green hair seemed soft, even when it jutted from his head in unnatural ways. The strange tint of violet that coated his eyelids seemed to suggest some trait long forgotten in the samurai's killer mind. Perhaps it was his blood-splattered innocents that lingered sadly in that now-meaningless softness.  
  
Dais kept a content gaze on Sekhmet, "What bothers you now? Five hundred years, Sekhmet, and you still wear the angered look of a beaten boy."  
  
Sekhmet rolled his shoulders trying to ignore the truth behind such words, "Beaten? Yes. Boy? No longer. Human? Never." An evil glazed smirk slipped across his face as his iris free eyes sparked a need to kill or be killed. "You're just jealous."  
  
"How childish," Dais crossed his own arms now, toned but not to the point Sekhmet's muscles were. "I am from a family of exceptional wealth and power. At least I am pure." Half-breed.  
  
Sekhmet's mocking laugh danced in Dais's ears like some annoying insect trying to crawl inside. "My mother is a naga, a goddess! Don't talk to me of wealth and power."  
  
"And your father?" Dais snapped, ice-eyes burning.  
  
Sekhmet's cocky expression plummeted as he bared his near-fang teeth. "Damare…" the tone he hissed his words in was close to a fist-swinging frenzy.  
  
Dais only grinned and spoke with every intention to light Sekhmet's anger, "Hmmm… was he a lonely foolish samurai? Easily tricked by a snake- blooded demon, so willing and blinded by her charm and beauty, so weak and broken from war after war. What great power must run in your veins from his distinguished blood." He twisted a piece of silken white hair around one finger as he taunted. "Did you even know his name?" Dais already knew the answer as Sekhmet's hissing growl increased in its severity. "You're a bastard…" Dais whispered into the air, letting his illusions repeat it around Sekhmet like a trillion little voices in his head.  
  
The same uncontrollable scream that was the Gen Masho's signal to vanish, as the scale dappled fist lashed out where he was standing. Sekhmet's hand drove into the air, slamming through the misty shape that was his friend, hissing his forked black tongue magic. His fists trembled as the anger rushed through him, his absolutely insane temper beating madly inside him. He wanted to pound that illusion-wielding jerk into the floor until bloody tears poured down Dais's beautiful pale face. Until he sobbed for mercy, until his anger was settled. But… there was nothing but air around Sekhmet; he lowered his head with another snarl. "B-Bastard…" he swallowed the words. I refuse to accept it.  
  
A feudal monster lurks in us all… he twirled the snake-headed katana around him. A winding, spiral dancer of metal whispering against the air it touched. With an elegant snap of the wrist and a curve to the right like a coiling viper twining his long perfected body. Coiling tight, waiting. The slightest movement from any direction, heard by tuned ears, and the snake lashed out with unseen speed, fangs drawn to slide through the weak flesh of his soft enemies. An injection of crimson death, pushing it into their pink skin so it could course as acid through their veins and leave them a trembling paralyzed form to be disposed of at any time. Why do I fight? Sekhmet raised his own trembling hand, wiping the strands of green hair that stuck messily to his sweaty skin. A few tiny beads of sweat clinging to his fingertips as his hand pulled away.  
  
A pitiful cry lurked in the back of his mind, that same child's voice sobbing for something. Little hands splattered with blood, shivering… frightened hands. Tears streaming down bruised cheeks, tears that looked violet from tainted skin. To defend myself, I fight.  
  
He remembered, the sound of a sleek katana being yanked from its snug scabbard drowned out the sound of the child's sobs. A gleam from the wild rays of torches in the night, that inferno's gleam, caught on his blade as it was captured in his eyes. Black tongue darted into the warm night air, tasting the fear from the humans around him. A woman, on her knees, her young face hidden behind her hands. She cried, whispering over and over of mercy and gods. His smirk was of cruel delight, giant armored feet digging into the dirt as he stood before her. "Here is a god to answer your cries," he hissed. "Unfortunately… a god not of mercy." The sword shifted in his hand, his arm pulled back building strength as he swung the blade in the darkness.  
  
I am a naga… I am above humans. I fight so I am not weak, I was born to be strong, and I was born for power. I was born to be general of the most power forces. No one can hurt me anymore. His twisted his fingers into the hilt of his katana. Now they are the ones who fear.  
  
A black-tinted chain shot unexpectedly from the doorway, rocketing towards Sekhmet with the aim of centuries of training and a wilder with a heart of skilled fire. The chain reached it target, wrapping around Sekhmet's throat tight enough for it to force his snake-like eyes shut. He hissed, fingers darting up to dig into the tight chain. "Show yourself! I will have your head for this-" he struggled to speak.  
  
"Well, well," the voice was instantly recognized.  
  
Sekhmet's snarl curled into a smirk, "S-Shuten…" the black chain loosened with an unseen command from the Oni Masho. As is it was an animal, obediant and under the man's control. The chain unraveled from his throat and dropped in a neat pile on the floor, chains clinking softly against one another. Sekhmet rubbed his throat, watching the red-haired Masho with a curled lip. "Jerk."  
  
"You were training so intently," Shuten's sarcastic grin played on his face. "So deep in concentration I was sure you would have caught the chain." Obviously, the Oni Masho knew very well the sight of walking past Sekhmet's training room and seeing the naga standing, blankly staring off into distant dreamlands with his mouth hanging open. "How many centuries will it take to clear the clueless look from your face, Sekhmet?"  
  
"Damare…" he hissed. He leered foreword, flickering his tongue in Shuten's face. What am I doing?  
  
Sekhmet pulled away from his attempt at intimidating the younger masho, after all Shuten was the grand general, Master Arago's favorite and a more prized warrior than he was. I'm envious… but why shouldn't I be? I'm better! I'm the best warrior around here… he looked back at the seemingly innocent Shuten. Pretty red hair, long and straight with green eyes gleaming brightly even in the dimness of this Dynasty. His strange blue- gray color of his under-armor giving away the delicate build it sheltered, the simple Shuten. Weakling… spoiled little fool. He doesn't know what its like to be…Sekhmet's voice halted. As if he slammed it into a stonewall, t- to be… be…  
  
The sad sobbing was present in the back of his mind again. That little baby, standing all alone. Soft hands dappled with blood… whose blood? Its my own… my blood. I'm bleeding doesn't anyone care? I'm hurt? I'm hurt! Sekhmet hissed, anger tearing through him, he let out another uncontrollable growl as he sent his first towards Shuten's face.  
  
The redhead didn't blink or flinch, he took an insultingly slow step to the right and let Sekhmet's hand drive through the rice paper walls and into the shelf of intricately made ceremonial seppuku daggers. "Tisk, tisk Sekhmet…" he grinned. "You wouldn't want me to tell Arago-sama that the Doku Masho is having a mental breakdown? Why look, his fingers call for a dagger to end his life already." The man, still wearing the shell of a seventeen-year-old boy snickered.  
  
"Mental breakdown, ah?" Sekhmet growled. That's because everyday I have to see your face. Pulling his hand from the ripped rice paper revealed a few slices in his skin. His metallic tinted blood staining the thin paper. "Get out." He locked his eyes on the red-stained shoji so he could control his temper. After all, attempting to beat his high general to death wouldn't increase his rank… unless he killed him, but that would anger his master to greatly. Shuten wasn't worth being shocked to death by Arago's evil energy, he'd surpass the fool some other way.  
  
Shuten grinned and bowed, "Very well, Sekhmet." He walked from the training room, red hair trailing behind him as he disappeared from the naga's view.  
  
Sekhmet yanked his head to the side, spitting. "I'll slit your pretty throat in your sleep…" he grumbled to himself.  
  
"You alright?" a softer voice questioned from the darkness.  
  
"Hai, I'm fine." Sekhmet said hastily, startled by the unexpected noise as he sat down on the floor. He watched Kale's figure form from the darkness, taking a physical well-defined shape. Blue hair, wild as his own, highlighted with the very shadows the Yami Masho controlled. He stepped out where he could be seen, cracking his armored knuckled with a clown-like grin.  
  
"Wanna spar?" Sekhmet finally blurted out some words.  
  
Kale seemed again aloof, "Not really…" he sighed something sad in his blue eyes. Sekhmet watched the grief quickly vanish from Kale's expression as the man looked back at him, words sparking on his lips. "Not with your mood, why would I agree to be your punching bad?"  
  
Sekhmet lifted his arms above his head as high as he could in a stretch, "Yeah, yeah…" he watched the sadness flash over Kale's face again. As his friend seemed to tune out the current discussion, eyes blank and head tilted slightly towards the darkness. "Kale?" Sekhmet could see the mere name wouldn't grab his attention. "Hay dog-breath."  
  
"Uh?" the messy blue hair shifted with the strong turn of his head. "N-nani?"  
  
"What are you doing?" Sekhmet went back to his stretches.  
  
"Listening." Kale tilted his head back towards his shadows.  
  
Sekhmet slightly sneered; he hadn't had to think about the child the four of them were responsible for all day. "What, is that little brat of yours sniveling in your shadows?"  
  
The darkening of Kale's eyes was the clear answer Sekhmet needed.  
  
"Shuten probably forgot to feed her for the third day in a row," he chuckled only because it angered his friend. "Or maybe Dais slapped her across the face a few dozen times." he smirked coldly. Kale's softness towards the child was a never-ending source of entertainment, the Yami Masho, who stayed cloaked in his shadows to try to escape hearing that girl cry or seeing her be hurt. Such a great warrior, hiding from pains in his heart. It was all too funny in the naga's mind.  
  
Kale's blue eyes looked black as they turned on him, the shadows drifting forward to claim his form again. "Actually Sekhmet," the Yami Masho smoothly spoke. "I believe the cries I hear are reflections of your own." The shadows rose up and wrapped around Kale like a blanket, his body becoming a shadow, invisible to Sekhmet's eyes.  
  
Sekhmet found the glee he had felt from bringing anger into Kale's eyes shatter like his soul was made of glass. A crystal, fragile soul broken into a thousand jagged pieces made up his insides. Pieces that dug further into his being, causing him pain so he caused others pain. The sobbing was vivid in his mind again, that little boy with soft green hair and big eyes, tears staining his kimono and blood staining his cut hands. Sekhmet glanced down at his hardened, adult hands. Calluses coated his fingers from clenching katana blades for centuries, each day since he was ten years old. His black colored eyes drifted over the cuts that bled lightly, staining his slightly yellow colored skin the same color that blackened his broken soul. I-I… I'm bleeding still…  
  
FIN.  
  
  
  
::Footnotes:: (For those who need them)  
  
Masho- Warlord  
  
Doku Masho- Poison Warlord  
  
Gen Masho- Illusion Warlord  
  
Oni Masho- Demon Warlord  
  
Yami Masho- Darkness Warlord  
  
"Damare"- shut up  
  
Naga- an oriental snake-god/demon, they appear to be half snake, half human. Females are said to turn into beautiful humans and seduce mortal men, they are attributed to have many powers water/natural disaster related.  
  
Katana- a Japanese sword  
  
"Hai"- yes  
  
"Nani"- a shocked/irritated "what"  
  
shoji- rice paper walls  
  
Seppuku- ceremonial suicide carried out by samurai warriors at the defeat of their Master/army/cause or at their own choosing, they kneel and gut themselves.  
  
Raku tan suru- to loose heart  
  
Yuki wo dasu- to take heart  
  
Kokoro- heart 


End file.
